Apprentice of Chucky
by The Phantom's Little Red
Summary: Rosaline Noah, or Rose, finds herself in a depressing situation. She's ready to end her life fully, thinking there's nothing to live for. But when her father brings home a little Good-Guy doll named Chucky, she finds that she'll turn her self-hate into talent and art. Rated T for language and some gore. Warning: Some content may be triggering (includes depression and self harm).
1. Chapter 1

_Seven months ago..._

_"And stay out of my fucking house, you hear!?" June called, throwing whatever she could reach down the stairs. Jack swiftly dodged the objects coming his way, but he inched closer to the door with every step he took. He grabbed his car keys from the key rack and bolted out the glass door, almost slipping as he ran along the slippery wet concrete. His car was only moments away and he was already soaking wet, but nonetheless, he jumped inside and pulled away from the house in mere seconds. June stood in the doorway of the house and watched as his car disappeared into the dark street._

_She breathed deeply, quickly wrapping her arm around herself as if it was her only hope to cage whatever sanity she had left. When she could no longer see the black Chevy, she doubled over and gave out a cry of agony. Loud sobs followed; she melted into despair and felt as her heart twisted and turned. Her mind spun vigorously with emotion, and in the moment, she was unable to comprehend any sense of reality. She couldn't care less if the neighbors gazed out their windows at the scene, or if they gossiped cold works between each other on the phone._

_Upstairs, the children stayed behind the locked door to their room. James, the older twin, found comfort in a simple hand-held game, as the majority of fourteen year old boys did. He threw all his emotions into a game of Pokemon, pretending the crisis downstairs had no effect on him. His younger twin sister, Rosaline, had no available outlet. She wedged herself into the tiny space where the window beveled out from the outside wall, her legs pulled up to her chest and her arms bound around her knees. Her eyes watched the rain outside, and tears began to quietly, slowly, plummet from her own eyes._

_She vaguely recalled the days where any book could avert her mind away from the hell raising between her mother and father. No one, not even her, noticed when her sudden interest vanished. Rosaline felt she could no longer ignore that there was hell on Earth, and that it was coming through the cracks in her family. It had become too much for a story to guard, and she herself admitted,_

_It was about time to grow up anyways._

**_Present Day_**

"Rose!" Jack called from the dining room downstairs. "I called you for dinner fifteen minutes ago!"

Rosaline gave out a frustrated sigh and grabbed the remote for her CD deck. Flipping off the heavy metal music, she tossed the remote onto her bed and dragged herself downstairs. She brushed away the bangs of her newly dyed hair, which went from it's natural auburn to a black. Only James had really noticed the new dent in her personality; his sister was slowly fading into a shady crowd. She changed her entire style, and he knew it wasn't to fit it. James knew it was a result of her growing taste in things dark. The divorce had taken a toll on her innocence, leaving it scarred and demented in ways her parents didn't see.

Rosaline, called Rose or Rosie, didn't want her parents to see. She claimed that "She's coping fine". And her parents gave her a leeway, hoping that if she had a bit of her own space, she would return to her senses. Of course, their little girl had become lost. Somewhere along the road, they had abandoned her and left her soul to rot away like her innocence. She called them both stupid for not seeing what they did, and so her methods of coping became cutting, smoking, and anything else she picked up along the road she was abandoned on.

Jack glanced up at his daughter as she took her place at the table, "You colored your hair...wow..."

"What?" she asked. "Is there something wrong with it?"

"No..not at all." He gave her a smile, but she turned it down and began to pick at dinner. Rose swung her feet absentmindedly, until she felt the tip of her foot push something. Peeking under the tablecloth, all she saw was the outline of a box.

"Dad? What the hell is that?" she asked. Jack paused for a second in confusion.

"Oh, I forgot!" he exclaimed, reaching for the box under the table. "On the way home from the office, I stopped by the antique store after they called me up about a new item." He fiddled with the packaging and opened up the yellow box, "They gave me this little fella for cheap!"

Rose and James both looked up from their plates, seeing their father holding a doll. It was a boy doll, dressed in cute little overalls and wearing red trainers. It had stringy orange hair, and looked almost in mint condition.

James set his fork down, "Wow dad...you found a Good Guy doll?"

"I had one as a kid," James announced proudly. "They were the coolest thing around when I was maybe 6. Everyone had to have one. I watched their TV show..everything. Heck, I even had Good Guy pajamas and any accessory a kid could ever want."

"What's his name?" Rose asked bluntly. "Every Good Guy doll's got a name."

"How would iyou/i know?" Jack said. "Out of all people, you?"

"I get out, asshole."

"Rosaline, enough," Jack interrupted. "Now, I remember the shop guys said they put batteries into him, lets see if he still works."

Jack gave the child's toy a little squeeze, and sure enough, came the lovable little voice he remembered distantly.

"Hi! I'm Chucky! Wanna play?"

"Chucky," Rose mumbled half heartedly. "God, what a retarded name."

_Ooh...I've got a little bitch on my hands..._ The little doll thought. _She'll fucking pay for that..._

Secretly, his eyes trailed her as she slumped back up the stairs into her room. Rose the shut the door behind her, indicating that she wanted her beloved solitude. And Chucky couldn't wait to get his hands back on a classic meat cleaver.


	2. Chapter 2

_After dinner..._

In the dead of night, Rose gazed into the mirror, her eyes twisting in disgust of herself. She reached into her a pocket, pulling out a little red velvet box. Her vices twisted inside of her, and she slowly opened it. Wedged right where her mother's engagement ring used to be, was her one razor. Reaching for it, she rolled up her sleeves and closed her eyes, smoothly tracing the blade along her delicate wrists. She felt a temporary rush of relief, an escape from any stress, as the blood trickled from her arm to the white bathroom sink. She made sure not to cut too deep, but only deep enough that all of her stress, angst and anger flowed out with the blood.

Downstairs, Chucky raided the kitchen drawers to find the best knife he could. Searching carefully for the slickest weapon, he was disappointed in his discoveries. He cursed under his breath and scurried off into the basement, where Mr. Noah kept the majority of his antiques on display.

"There's surely gotta be somethin' good down here..." he mumbled. Quietly excavating the room in the dark, he acquired an old switchblade, one of his classic favorites. Stuffing it into the small pocket of his Good Guy overalls, he snuck upstairs and noticed the light on in the second floor bathroom. _Must be that little bitch_, he thought,_ Getting rid of all that goddamn make-up._

He began making his way up the stairs when the lights in the bathroom flicked off. Rose shuffled back into her room, shutting her door like she usually did. Chucky grunted in frustration and finished making his way to the second floor. Inside her room, Rose readied herself for sleep, only knowing that she would wake up tomorrow and the world would still be full of shit. She crashed onto her bed and stared up at the ceiling, contemplating if she should smoke one more cigarette. But her thoughts were broken when she heard a creak coming from her door.

"I could've sworn I closed it," Rose said. She shrugged and stood up to close it again. From the left side of the room came a tiny pitter-patter. Rose turned sharply, thinking, _It's probably just another rat or something. Dammit dad...I told you to call a fucking exterminator._

She laid down in bed again, pulling her covers over her body. She felt cold, and recently she had stopped ignoring it. A bit of blood dripped from her arm to her pillow, and she watched it fall. It reminded her of the night her father ran from the house, how the rain couldn't stop him at all. Closing her eyes, Rose tried everything to keep the tears back. She gripped a part of her pillow and curled up into a ball, but nonetheless, she released soft, gently cries. Tears met the few drops of blood on the pillow, and Rose completely broke down.

From behind her vanity, Chucky watched as Rose crumbled. He heard her mumble phrases of self hate and disgust, how much she hated the world, and of how much she wished to no longer be part of it. He didn't feel sentiment or pity towards the girl, but hearing her made him set his knife aside. _What's the point of killing someone when they already want it? That's no fun at all..._

Looking at the decor of her room, Chucky felt the aura that he himself once surrounded himself with. Death. Murder. Voodoo and magic. He remembered his interest in the subject at a young age, and he knew there was nothing wrong with that. This "little bitch" had a bit of her own collection, and maybe she wasn't meant to be a victim of his. He already figured she was her own victim.

Rose gained control of herself, but she was still too absent minded to notice any sign how slyly a little Good Guy doll had climbed up to the top of her nightstand. It now sat facing her, and spoke its most famous phrase,

"Hi! I'm Chucky, and I'm your friend to the end! Hi-dee-ho!"

Rose jumped up, startled slightly. Between mumbling curses, she managed to spit out, "How the hell did you get here, little guy?" She stood up and stared at him, baffled by his strange appearance. "You should be downstairs...amongst dad's other creepy knickknacks and shit...". Picking him up, she examined him from all corners. Reaching into his overall pocket, she pulled the little switchblade pocket knife, her eyes widening.

Chucky hated his possessions being taken; he shouted abruptly, "HEY! Don't touch my shit, you little bitch!"

Rose let out a short scream and tossed Chucky onto the floor hard. He grabbed his knife while she recuperated, but soon found the little switchblade pointing at her.

"Shut up, kid," Chucky said. "I only wanna talk."

Rose didn't say a word. She didn't care what the hell was going on. She knew she wasn't stable anymore, mentally. She realized that death was in her grasp, and what better way to go than by a doll? But she became confused when all the Good Guy did was stare up at her.

"Aren't...aren't you gonna kill me?" she asked bluntly.

"Didn't you fucking hear, kid?" Chucky answered. "I said I only wanted to talk."

"Why?" Rose began to lose her sanity again, each word sounding more and more like a plead. "You've got a knife right there. Just take it and...and do whatever you do! Plunge it into my chest, slit my throat and my wrists...just...!"

She breathed heavily and wrapped her arms around herself. Chucky saw her for the mental mess that she was. Her reaction was new to him. He didn't show any signs of shock, but it had seemed he would be playing God for her, deciding how she would go and when. She totally accepted it, even begged him to do whatever vile, twisted thing he could think of. She didn't react to him at all, as if she didn't know what reality was anymore and accepted him as a normal sight.

"Kid..." he began again. "Listen...calm...down. Just sit down...because all I wanna do is chat."

Rose gazed down at Chucky, slowly grabbing the bedpost and taking a seat. Chucky slipped the switchblade into his pocket and climbed up to the bed, taking a seat casually next to her.

"I know you..." she muttered suddenly. "I've read about you in the papers...in the old ones my dad kept."

Chucky peered up at her intently, giving her a nod to continue telling her story.

"That kid... Andy Barclay... the one they called crazy, right?"

"You make it sound like you didn't think he was crazy," Chucky pointed out.

"I knew he wasn't," Rose admitted. "I knew Charles Lee Ray was in the body of that doll." She looked over at him. "When dad brought you home last night, and I heard the name 'Chucky', I was begging for it to be THE Chucky. Charles Lee Ray...you were a genius."

A sly smile grew on Chucky's face. "A genius? Ooh, I am liking this."

"Your murders, your strangulations... you did it all so precisely. I couldn't think of a better way to do it. That's... that's why I was hoping that you would kill me right then and there. So... I could get my wish, and you'd have an extra work of art in your portfolio."

"You're a confusing kid. Why the hell would anyone _want_ to die? Death is dealt out when called upon, not something you plan!"

Rose eyed the doll, her face growing tense. She whipped away the bangs from her hair and sighed.

"The world is full of shit, Mr. Ray. My parents are full of shit. My brother's full of shit. And I mean, no one gives a rat's ass about me anyways. Who's gonna miss me when I'm gone? No one at school is going to say anything. Mom and dad will be depressed for five seconds and then go back to sleeping with their new boyfriend and girlfriend. James has his friends and his goddamn video games. No one is going to care."

Chucky paused. "Alright kid. Rule number one. If you call me this 'Mr. Ray' or 'Charles' shit at all, I'll make your life a bigger hell, got it? It's Chucky. Let's keep it that way." Rose nodded. "Rule number two. Relax a little. If they don't give a shit about you, don't give a shit about them. You know what I see in you? A killer."

Rose looked at him with a small sense of hope and admiration. "You're serious? I...I don't know if I could...I mean..."

Chucky stood up on the bed and met with her eye to eye. He prodded her shoulder with his finger and gave her a determined look. "You have the makings of a killer, kid! You're going to get back at the world for all the shit they've done to you! And...I am looking for someone to have fun with again..." he raised his arms. "I'll teach you all I know. You wait and see, nobody's gonna know what fucking hit them."

He felt satisfaction when he saw her smile.

"I'll do what I can, Chucky. I'll do what I can."

Chucky grinned at her with his signature look. Jumping off of her bed, he made his way for the door. Before he slipped out, he took one last look at her and said, "I didn't catch your name."

"Rosaline," she answered, laying back down in her bed. "Call me Rose, Chucky."

"Rose," he said approvingly. "What a hell of a name for a killer."


	3. Chapter 3

_School_

Rose leaned back in the rickety chair as she waited for the class period to begin. Personally, she didn't hate school, because she had no reason to. There were kids that she hated, and there were kids that she liked. In most cases, none of her classes were too frustrating, but, like every other child, there was that one class that she hated. And the reason for hating it was because she hated the teacher. That teacher's name was Mr. Arthur Goodman.

Mr. Goodman was a teacher who hated his job but refused to quit. He was in his late 40's and he knew that there weren't many jobs available for him to turn to. He often regretted his decision to major as an English teacher in college, but he had neither the time nor the money to go for another degree. So he figured he might as well persevere in hell until he retired. Or died.

From the first day of school, Rose knew she hated him. Everything about Arthur Goodman made her feel sick. His eye contact seemed so twisting and menacing, as if he wanted to kill everyone in the room. Rose made her hate known throughout the class. She often threw a wisecrack joke in between his sentences or she drew a playfully rude doodle on the back of her test papers.

Goodman came into the classroom and tossed his stack of papers onto his desk, rubbing his eyes from underneath his circular glasses.

"Alright," he began. "Today, I've got a new assignment for you. Forget the papers we started last week-"

"Mr. Goodman," Rose interrupted. "We've been working on those papers day and night. If you just got rid of the assignment, that would've been the biggest waste of time!"

"Quiet, Ms. Noah!" he retaliated. "The school board wants us to expand our creative writing curriculum...and so I have to do something based off of that. Now, your task is so simple, I am more than sure that NONE of you will do it wrong. Unless of course, I'm proven wrong again."

Rose scoffed.

"You all are to bring in one thing that you feel is worth showing off to your peers. You're to describe it in front of the class, starting tomorrow."

_A show and tell,_ she thought. _What the hell is this? Kindergarten?_

Goodman caught the look on Rose's face. "Something the matter, Ms. Noah?"

"Nope. Everything's fine," she lied through her teeth.

_Home_

"I swear to God, Chucky," Rose said, spinning in her desk chair. "School has gotten to be the biggest load of bullshit this country has to offer."

"You're tellin' me? I stopped going to school back in the, the early 70's. Dropped out the minute I could." Rose stopped spinning and glanced over at the doll, who was sitting on her nightstand, sharpening his little knife against a rock.

"It's just this English teacher I have... I am more than sure he's got it in for me. That and I think he's a pedophile."

Chucky looked up and flashed one of his signature sly smiles. "Well who wouldn't want to get their hands on that good stuff."

"Hey!"

Chucky laughed and set his knife aside. "But seriously kid. If you're so pissed about this teacher, you get to him before he gets to you."

Rose turned to him. "You mean kill him?"

"What ELSE would I mean? Sometimes I think you're more an idiot than Martha Stewart!"

Rose got a puzzled look on her face. "Why. The hell. Would you out of all people, bring up Martha Stewart?"

Chucky picked up his knife and jumped down from the top of the nightstand. "I knew someone who practically quoted everything she said. It's hard not to remember how much of a bitch she was."

"Who? This person, or Martha Stewart?"

"Both."

Coming over to rose, the little Good Guy held up his arms. Rose lifted him onto the desk, leaning on one arm as she waited for him to get settled.

"Alright, so you've gotta find a way to easily get rid of that guy. But...what's killing without a little fun, eh?" He sat against her lava lamp and motioned his finger for her to come closer. Rose leaned in, saying, "So what have ya got?"

"You gotta bring somethin' into class tomorrow, don't 'cha?"

"Yeah-...oh I see where this is..."

"You got me?"

"Yeah, Chucky, I think I got 'cha..."


	4. Chapter 4

"Rosaline Noah?" Goodman called monotonously. "You're up next."

Rose reached into down to pick up her large paper bag, standing from her chair and walking to the front portion of the classroom. Half-heartedly clearing her throat, she reached into the bag and grabbed a hold of Chucky by the arm. Before she even hoisted him up completely, the other kids snickered slightly. Rose knew it wasn't common, because most of them snickered at every presentation anyways. She wrapped her arm around Chucky's waist and held him to her, like any girl would hold her doll.

"Today, I brought in my dad's old toy. This is a Good Guy doll, and his name is Chucky." She gave his abdomen a little squeeze, and the lovable voice spoke its well known phrase, "Hi, I'm Chucky! And I'm your friend to the end!" It ended off with its little giggle.

"I brought in this doll because it's one of my dad's favorite antiques. He was one of the first Good Guy dolls to be manufactured back in the day, and every kid swarmed the stores for one. One of my favorite aspects about this little guy...is that this is the same doll which surrounds the popular murder myth created by a man now rotting in the insane asylum in Hackensack, New Jersey, Andy Barclay. When he was a boy, Barclay claimed that this very doll was possessed by the soul of Charles Lee Ray, the infamous Lakeshore strangler, who was gunned down in a toy store in town. Police claimed that Barclay must have seen the news story on TV, and wild accusations, including the nickname "Chucky", led him to believe that he too could get away with murder and blame his own little doll. They say this doll was released back into the press at some point, where my dad won him in an auction as a boy many years later. He had found Chucky recently, in a pawn shop where my mom had sold him after their divor-"

"Alright, chatterbox, that's enough." Goodman interrupted. "I think you've gone on long enough about your fantasies of killer dolls. I had one when I was a kid, they weren't that special."

"Mr. Goodman, I beg to differ," she argued. "I think Good Guy dolls were a heavy influence on the boys of that generation... and I find that I like them today..."

"That's all very swell, Ms. Noah, but your crazy story about Andy Barclay-"

"It is a true, historical article, Mr. Goodman! Andy Barclay was the creation of this myth, and-"

"Do you believe in such myths, Ms. Noah?"

"No, but-"

"Maybe you should save it for your creative writing piece. Now, please, set the doll with the rest on the items and have a seat."

"Mr. Goodman, you let all the other students finish!"

"Get back in your seat!"

"What the hell is this, goddamit!"

"AUTOMATIC DETENTION, MS. NOAH. TAKE. YOUR SEAT."

Though fury boiled in every of her veins, Rose scoffed and shuffled off to the shelf, setting Chucky down. Knowing he was watching her, she gave him a small wink and walked back to her desk. She slumped back in her chair, and proceeded to watch the rest of her class, smirking along with a few others.

_Detention_

It wasn't Rose's first time in detention. She had at least six detentions before with Goodman, let alone the rest of her classes. Sitting in the front row of desks, she wasted the first fifteen minutes yawning, running her fingers through her hair, and doing whatever normal things a kid her age would subconsciously do. Once in awhile, she would eye Chucky, but he was constantly in the same position ever since she set him down.

Goodman caught her glance at some point. "Worried that the doll is going to move, Ms. Noah?"

"No Mr. Goodman. But...it'd be incredibly fascinating if it did," she answered..

"Like I said, save it for your creative writing assignment. I'm sure you'll come up with something fantastic," he mumbled sarcastically. As he continued to attend to his papers, Rose glanced over at him and rested her head against the desk surface.

"How come you weren't fond of Good Guy dolls, Mr. Goodman?" she asked.

"Rosaline! You're in a detention period and you shall treat this period as such! I've had just about enough of your-"

"Sir, all I want is to know. Everyone said that Good Guys used to be one of the best toys ever made... the top selling too..."

Goodman took his glasses off of his nose and rubbed his eyes tiredly, then looked up at Rose. "Why are you so keen on a toy from the eighties, huh?"

"My dad talks about Chucky a lot."

He sighed in exhaustion. "I had one and I didn't find it as entertaining as other kids did. I don't think it's a big deal."

Rose nodded and peeked over to glance at Chucky, and she knew that at this time, he wouldn't be there. Goodman followed her gazed, prepared to scold her, yet he froze when he noticed a blank spot on his shelf.

"That's weird..." Rose said quietly. "Maybe he fell..."

"I can't see it at all..."

Suddenly, his neck felt tight as his collar pressed heavily against it. A force kept pulling it tighter and tighter, and he struggled to grab a hold of his collar and free himself. He felt a shiver down his spine as a voice creeped into his ear.

"Now you see me, fucker?"

Goodman's eyes widened as Chucky climbed over to his front side. He grabbed the teacher's tie quickly, pulling it tighter and tighter. Goodman's hands fumbled to reach up to his neck, but slowly, his body began to shut down. Rose watched with wide eyes as she saw her teacher lose the air in his lungs, while the doll let out a maniacal laugh so great, it was hard to see him as no longer human. Goodman's body dropped to the side, and Chucky hopped from the chair to the desk.

"Goddamit," said Rose breathlessly. "That was brilliant."

Chucky looked up at her. "We're not done yet, genius. You gotta clear the evidence remember? Everyone saw that you were supposed to be here. Now, we gotta make it look like...hmm.."

Rose paused for a while, then stood from her seat and picked up Chucky.

"Ey! What the fuck do you think you're doing!"

"Shut up and trust me."

She rushed over to the shelf and set Chucky down. "Don't you dare move." Pulling her sleeve over her fingers, she gingerly grabbed a pair of scissors off of Goodman's desk, and stabbed him right in the heart. Taking her late teacher's cold hand, she did her best to smear it in the blood that began to flow out. She wiped the rest of the desk clean, leaving no trace of her or Chucky behind.

And at the top of her lungs, Rose gave out a piercing blood curdling scream.

Staff from every corner of the school heard it and rushed to the English teacher's room. A few of them grabbed Rose, who convincingly sobbed like a child taken from its mother, makeup running down her face and all. She babbled words which turned into incoherent sounds, hoping that they would believe her.

Teachers flocked to comfort her, some called for the police, while others phoned her parents. In her mind, Rose felt powerful. She felt as if she had coiled everyone under her string, pulling them tighter and tighter as her web of lies convinced them more and more. She had to admit, she couldn't take credit for the murder herself, but all the attention swarmed over her.

Chucky secretly watched the scene, while he experienced the last bits of his rush from the kill. He hadn't strangled anyone since his last encounter with Andy Barclay, and he felt good knowing that he, The Lakeshore Strangler, hadn't lost his touch. He heard Rose begging to "take her doll back", and he was slightly relieved that she wasn't leaving him overnight. As she clutched him, he noticed her quick glance for approval. He nodded once lightly, and the police took them out of the building.


	5. Chapter 5

_The coroner and the police determined Arthur Goodman's death to be a suicide. Along with the local newscast and the editors of the paper, they attempted to follow Rose home. A team cleared Goodman's body from the classroom and the faculty worked long hours to inform the families of their students that school would be out of session for the next week. They wouldn't explain why, but the news of a teacher's suicide spread like wildfire across the media. The local police found Arthur's closest relative, a sister living in Kentucky, and contacted her about the death of her brother. An open funeral was held, and the majority of the town attended, but Rose, of course, refused to go..._

The rush had barely lasted. Once back in her corner of a room, Rose felt empty. She felt like something had sucked the very life out of her and replaced it with guilt. Her skin had gone from pale to white; she looked like a creature risen from the dead. She attempted to find comfort in her razor, hoping that spilling another few drops of blood would compensate for what she had just allowed. Once she had set that razor down, the guilt only deepened. Her stomach churned in all directions, she felt sick to her stomach. Even when she tried to rid herself of the nausea, her body wouldn't allow it, for she hadn't eaten almost the entire day. Chucky watched her; he was familiar with the experience. He felt almost the same way after Eddie had pressured him into his first strangulation.  
Once Rose reached for her razor again, he took a stand and kicked her box off of the shelf. She looked up at him with eyes glassy from tears.  
"Chucky... why the hell do I feel like this..." she said quietly. "You told me I would feel good..."  
"Listen, kid," he began. "You didn't even kill the guy. You covered up my work. If you think this is bad, wait until you actually slit a throat or two."  
"If it's gonna be worse, why should I do it?!"  
Chucky gave a halfhearted, disappointed sigh and sat down on the edge of her bed. Motioning for her to come and sit with him, he pulled out the knife he had stolen from her father's antique collection.  
"What is this, Rose?" he asked.  
"What the hell are you talking about. It's a knife, what's that gotta do with anything."  
"I almost slit your throat with this knife, remember?"  
Rose looked away, "I still don't understand why you didn't."  
"Because you're talented, goddamit!" Chucky stood and turned her head back to him, looking her in the eyes truthfully. "Your cover up back there was AMAZING. You have chops, kid, and we can't let that go to waste. Besides, that feeling isn't gonna be there forever."  
"And how do you know?"  
"I've had the feeling. First time I ever strangled a guy. My ex-wife's dad. He was a hell of a guy, hated him down to the core."  
"Wait..." Rose stopped him. "Ex-wife?"  
"That's beside the point."  
Rose raised an eyebrow and looked down at Chucky. She flashed him a sly smile, like an eagle that had just caught its prey.  
"Come on Chucky, lemme know!"  
"It ain't a story for today, kid!"  
She noticed that Chucky just about had enough. He jumped down from the bed and pulled his knife out from his side pocket, sharpening it against a rock as he crept out of the room, making his way to the basement.


	6. Chapter 6

"Come on Chucky, you have to tell me," Rose persisted. "You can't just leave me hanging like that!"  
"Sure I can," replied the killer doll. "Goddamit, I could leave you hanging from a tree with thirty seven stab wounds in the back."  
"Just tell me about this ex-wife of yours!"  
Chucky turned and looked her dead in the eyes. "Why the fuck would you need to know anyways, huh kid? Like, what difference is it gonna make?"  
Rose ignored him. "Was she a blonde? A redhead? Come on, did you meet her in school? I bet you raped her in an alley or something, didn't you? Did you have kids?"  
"JESUS FUCKING CHRIST KID," he yelled out. Rose jumped back slightly. "If I tell you, will you SHUT. THE FUCK. UP."  
She stared at him and then grinned. "Yeah. Pretty much."  
Chucky noticed her quick change of tone. "You did that on purpose, didn't you? Why you little bitch…"  
"I learned from the best, you jackass." She retorted, blowing a part of her bangs away from her eyes. Reaching down to him, Rose picked Chucky up by the waist and plac him on the bed. She fixed one of his overall straps and sat back, crossing her legs like a pretzel.  
"You can't keep this from me forever, Chucky," Rose said most sincerely. "If you're gonna teach this girl about your talent, you've gotta teach this girl about yourself."  
Chucky growled under his breath, but then admitted that the girl was right. He had been completely vague, and was it possible that he had enough guts to confide this story to her? After all, didn't he consider himself human?  
"Her name was Tiffany," he started. "Tiffany Valentine. Svelte, blonde… God she was to die for…"  
"How'd you meet her?"  
"Saw her in juvie. She must've been fifteen when I first saw her. Guards were leading her down the hall to her cell and I could've sworn she winked at me. Before you know it she was pulling me aside in the corridors and her red lipstick was all over me. When we got out of juvie she came to live with me. Her parents practically kicked her out."  
"I thought you said you killed her dad…"  
"I did. After he threw her out."  
A knock came from outside the bedroom door. Rose looked up sharply, not saying a word.  
"Rose? Rose who are you talking to?"  
It was James.  
Rose fumbled for words. "Uhh...nobody!"  
James twisted the little golden door knob and stepped over the threshold. Rose looked up and shoved Chucky behind her.  
James eyed her, "Some weird shit's been going on with you since this whole teacher thing."  
"A teacher killed himself in-front of me, you jackass," she replied flatly. "Maybe I'm not as peachy as you thought I was."  
"Yeah but who fuck were you talking to?"  
"I was on the phone."  
"Your phone is downstairs."  
"James, what the hell do you want?"  
James bit the top of his lip lightly. He looked down at the floor and started inching forward towards his sister. Sitting next to her on the bed, he reached for her hand. Rose pulled away shyly, but he managed to take it gently. James glanced at her, and then put his hand on her drooping shoulder.  
"Rose, I'm really worried for you."  
"Why? James, I'm fine…"  
"Rose, no, you're not!" James pulled away and stood up furiously. "What happened to you?! It's the divorce isn't it? It's turned you into complete psycho! You're don't even know what goes on around you anymore. Mom and dad aren't together anymore, are you going to rip away from me too?! Rose we've done everything together...I mean...you can talk to me."  
"There's nothing to talk about, James. You know I'm fine. I know I'm fine."  
Rose stood and embraced her brother lightly. He returned her gesture, but quickly caught a glance of the redheaded doll sitting on her bed.  
"What the hell is Chucky doing here?"  
Rose pulled away and stared him in the eyes. "I like him. Dad doesn't do anything with him, I figured I might as well do something productive with the little guy."  
James reached over and picked the doll up by the arm. "He's so weird… I mean… Kids in the 80's were always on weed, no wonder they loved this thing."  
"I wouldn't fuck with the Chuck if I were you, James."  
James chuckled slightly. "Fuck with the Chuck? Rose, you tell me you're okay and all...but I hope you don't sit here all day and come up with these rhymes."  
"Oh come on, it sounds cute. Now," Rose reached for Chucky and took him back into her arms. "You go be a good boy and do your homework."  
"And what're you going to do? 'Fuck with the Chuck'?"  
Rose gave him a sarcastic grin and flipped up her middle finger. James smiled and walked out the door, closing it behind him. Rose felt a tugging at her shirt sleeve.  
"So Rose," Chucky said teasingly. "At least he cares…."  
"Piss off. He's my brother, he's like...supposed to care."  
"Well with him here, you're never going to get far, are you?"  
Something hit Rose inside. She looked at him; he saw a small look of fear it her eyes.  
"I didn't mean kill him!" Chucky protested. "Unless you wanna.."  
"No, Chucky."  
Rose set him on the edge of her bed and laid back on her pillow, closing her eyes.  
"So…" Chucky started. "Fuck with the Chuck?"  
"Shut the fuck up, Chucky. Just shut the fuck up."


	7. Chapter 7

"I don't get it," Chucky said flatly. "We're going _where_?"  
"I told you before, I'm at my mom's every-other week for two weeks. It's two weeks there and two weeks here."  
"Fuck that! Find someplace else."  
Rose eyed him, raising an eyebrow. She shook her head in disagreement and closed her backpack, slinging over her shoulder.  
"Now you've got two options," she said. "I can carry you or you can hitch a ride in the trunk."  
"What do I look like to you? A barbie doll?"  
"Suit yourself, short stuff."  
She took him by his little plastic hand and slung him over her shoulder. Grabbing her bag in her other hand, she made her way down and out to the front yard. A black Subaru was parked in the driveway; James was shoving his suitcase into the back of the trunk. Rose came over and waved to her mother, who was waiting comfortably behind the wheel.  
She opened the truck and threw her bag amongst the others. She giggled a little and lifted Chucky up. Blowing him a kiss, she tossed him in with the other luggage and shut the trunk door. James raised an eyebrow and shot her a funny look, but Rose ignored it and took a seat in the car. June took off her sunglasses and looked back at her children.  
"So how was your week, guys?"  
"Nothing new," Rose answered flatly. "Dad went to work. We went to school. My teacher blew his brains out after giving me detention..."  
"You don't even sound the least bit upset Rosaline."  
"I can cry because it's over or I can smile because it happened."  
June shook her head and began backing out of her ex-husband's driveway, turning her attention to her son. Rose simply took out her headphones and phone, drowning out her family's conversation with a compilation of rock and roll, her favorite genre, given that her father was the one who influenced her in music.

_At the house..._

Rose dragged Chucky into her room, which was severely different from the one she resided in when she stayed with her father. It felt bigger, yet fuller. It was convered with posters of old bands and icons, including Elvis and the Rolling Stones. In the corners she kept little odds and ends, like her acoustic guitar with her sheet music and books she had started but never finished. Adorning her furniture were exotic decorations, but nothing expensive. A few beaded strings hung from higher shelves and thin scarves acted as drapes between edges. It was in all, a darker room than the one she created at her father's.  
It took Chucky a mere few seconds to adjust and take in this new setting, and he was overall impressed with her interest. Some aspects of her interior design resembled connections to hoo-doo, which he was very familiar with himself. He removed himself from amongst her other luggage and stood. Rose noticed him and smirked a little.  
"Enjoy the ride?" she said with a light chuckle.  
"Kid, you're damn lucky I haven't fucked you over already."  
Rose just shook her head and walked over to one of her wooden drawers, opening it and pulling out a package of Marvolo cigarettes. Chucky watched as she shut her door and opened her window. Rose searched her pockets, but then got a frustrated countenance. She eyed Chucky and brushed her hair out of her face.  
"Damn Chucky, have you seen my light?"  
"Have I seen your light?" he asked. "I haven't even seen you smoke!"  
"Don't be a douchebag, I smoke. Have you seen my damn light or not?"  
"No!"  
Rose sighed and dug through her shelves and drawers, shifting between clothing and other flotsam. She finally found an spare pack in the corner of her desk drawer, underneath some neglected coloring pencil. She looked at Chucky and motioned to offer a cigarette. He took it from her sharply, remembering the last time he actually had tasted one. Rose sat by the window and lit the tip of the cigarette, taking a hit and blowing out. Chucky lit his in the middle of the room, letting the smoke accumulate around the room. Rose could only exhibit her smoking habit when at her mother's, and it felt good.  
Some time later, she dragged herself down to the kitchen to search for a bite of food. Her mother was already positioned at the counter, dicing tomatoes with a thick knife. She caught Rose searching through the fridge.  
"Keep your hands out of there," she said. "Dinner will be in fifteen minutes. And Donovan's coming."  
Rose groaned, "If he was real boyfriend material, mom, he would've been here already."  
"Rose!" June retorted. "I swear, if you don't behave..."  
"Spare me the consequences, mom. I'll just have to pretend like having another guy around is normal."  
Before June could defend her stances, Rose stormed off upstairs with an apple in her hand. She bit down into it like a wild animal, her teeth violently ripping back a piece. She hated Donovan with a burning passion, on the same level that she hated her parents. All he ever attempted to do was to try and replace her father within her family. Even though she hated her father, she had one. She personally accused Donovan of being in it only for the sex, and for the money.  
She slammed the door to her room and leaned against it, taking another bite of her apple. Chucky, who had gone through another two cigarettes, glanced over at her from the top of a bookcase.  
"Sounds to me like you've got some family issues," he pointed out bluntly  
"Tell me about it," she replied.  
Chucky smirked at her lightly, saying "Well... You could grin and bare it...or you could do what you have to do..."  
He laughed, and Rose smiled back slightly, nodding her head and taking one more bite of her apple, finally taking in the luscious flavor that she got from the color red.


End file.
